Exceedingly Stupid
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: How is carving a pumpkin ever going to help him solve a murder? It just won't. Therefore, he thinks it's rather stupid. Halloween!fic.


**Exceedingly Stupid**

"Now it seems like you're the one making a mess, dear," floated Mrs. Hudson's gently admonishing voice from the kitchen.

"Just one of the few times a year, Mrs. H," was the reply that came from John. Sherlock heard quiet laughter, followed by a "I'll make sure to clean it up" from John.

"Don't worry about it, dear. Just don't let Sherlock get ahold of that stuff. It'll be horrendous."

"Oh, God only knows."

Sherlock frowned, staring up at the ceiling. He'd been asleep- he hated sleeping because, when he did, he always slept _long_ and it was afternoon now- when John had began to clang and thump around in the kitchen. Sherlock's curiosity had perked up but he hadn't had quite the ambition to check it out until now.

He rolled out of bed and stretched, carding his fingers through his hair as he went to the door. Opening it led to a sight of orange clustered on the kitchen table and the smell of dirt and new vegetables. He paused. The date was... October... twenty-sixth, twenty-seventh... October twenty-eighth. Halloween was in three days.

He knew that pumpkins were tradition of Halloween. As well as black cats, zombies, mummies, witches, costumes, candy, kids, death, noise, blood, gore, ghosts, hauntings, spooky noises, tooth decay, screams, murder-

"You're up?" John's voice broke into Sherlock's train of thought.

He nodded briefly before walking the short distance into the kitchen, breathing in the fresh scent of recently gutted pumpkin. "Are you making pie?"

John gave him a look. "These aren't pie pumpkins."

"Doesn't mean you couldn't use it." He eyed the orange mush collecting on the table. "If you don't-"

"_No_, I promised Mrs. Hudson that I wouldn't."

Sherlock only rolled his eyes, stretching across John to grab his coffee mug. "Jack-o-lanterns, then?"

"Yeah."

"It seems like a stupid idea to me. How could anyone have ever thought that carving a poor attempt at a spooky face into a pumpkin would frighten off evil spirits?" he mused aloud as he poured himself some coffee. "Pointless." He took a sip and frowned- cold coffee. "Disgusting..."

"Not every one of your ideas has been good either, Sherlock," John responded patiently, looking up with a cutting knife in hand. "So shut up and carve."

"Don't care to. Need to think," he replied carelessly, without a thought of what he _should_ have been thinking about.

"_Think_ about a creative design," John retorted calmly, handing Sherlock a carving saw and brushing stray seeds off of the nearby chair. "Nothing better to do."

"I could disagree."

"You could," John agreed. "But, don't," he advised.

Sherlock sank onto the chair heavily, contemplating his gutted pumpkin. He looked up, looked at John, watching his hand movements as he worked with the knife. The stop-and-go motion was deterred with scraping, so Sherlock could only assume that it was something three dimensional-

"_Stop _it, Sherlock, you can't see it until it's done!"

"I can't see it at all; it's facing you."

"You're seeing it in my eyes or my hands or something."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock muttered, twirling the saw between his fingers.

"I'm not being ridiculous, you know you can."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, turning the carving tool over and over in his hand as he went back to watching John over the pumpkin.

Ten minutes later, John set his pumpkin back down on its bottom, leaning back in his chair to admire his work. "There. I think it's finished."

"You think?"

"Yeah... What did you make?"

"Nothing."

"N- _Sherlock!_ Can't you partake in something normal for once?"

"Foolish."

"What?"

"I feel foolish. Dragging sharp instruments through a vegetable that's going to rot out in a matter of days? That's stupid."

John sighed, drawing his hand across his face. "Look, Sherlock, don't you ever feel foolish on a case? Don't you feel like you're doing something stupid when you go undercover or disguise yourself?"

"Not at all. It's for a purpose."

"_This_ is for a purpose!"

"Hallow's Eve is not a _purpose_, it's a _holiday_. The last time that I checked, holidays are not of any importance."

John gaped openly at Sherlock for a moment before settling his head onto his hands. "You celebrate Christmas, yeah?"

"... Why would I?" Sherlock replied, looking across the table with disdain. "Why would I throw a one-man party, for myself, with myself? What would I do? Buy myself a present? 'Oh Sherlock, here's a new dead body.' 'Thanks, Sherlock, it's just what I wanted.'" He rolled his eyes.

"Not even Mycroft?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Not even at Christmas?" John pushed, frowning now.

"Oh, definitely not, John. Just because it's a holiday doesn't mean that I want to cozy up with my brother. The Diogenes Club is not my idea of _fun_, if you think it is."

"Well, a bunch of blokes in complete silence sounds like your sort of thing."

"I can maintain perfect silence, by myself, in my own flat, without celebrating or having other people thinking around me."

"Let me get this straight, then," John said, lifting his head again. "You've never celebrated... because you've never had anyone to celebrate with?"

"No, I've never had a _reason_, John," Sherlock replied, waving a hand.

"We're celebrating Christmas. We'll have a party. Have Mrs. Hudson up, a few people from Barts, Scotland Yard-" Sherlock flashed John a sour look, to which John replied "Okay, just Greg, not the lot of the Yard, then".

"Fine," Sherlock said without much thought. Maybe a Christmas party wouldn't be so bad, although he doubted that much could come from it. He'd just need to endure a few hours of more talking than usual and some drinking, gift giving, and good cheer... Oh, _cheer_. That was always untasteful.

"And we're celebrating Halloween. So carve the pumpkin."

"You're talented in this area, you can have mine." Sherlock pushed the pumpkin closer to John's, handing over the saw. "Very detailed, although you did mess up numerous times."

"Wha- You _can_ read my hand movements!" John said hotly, frowning. It wasn't a deep-set frown, though: wasn't seriously angry.

Sherlock smirked. "Naturally." He stood gracefully, ghosting over to John's chair. On the pumpkin was the face of a cat, skillfully carved and tasteful in the extreme. Normal looking, 'cute', Sherlock supposed, but definitely not scary. He said as much to John.

"Oh well, not every pumpkin design is scary nowadays, you know? Some people just do it to show respect or to show off." A pause. "Not me, of course."

"Obviously. You're not a show-off."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"No, John, I'm not. Why do you always assume that?" Sherlock replied with a frown before turning away. "Make the second one as frightening as you can manage. Halloween is for scaring people, isn't it?"

"Maybe I'll carve a ghost... haunted house... vampire. Hey, if you wanted to hand out candy, you could guise as a vampire. You're pale enough as it is." He paused; Sherlock looked around to find him grinning. "I could be a vampire hunter."

"No."

"Why not? We have to hand out candy; we're in the bloody middle of London!"

"Mrs. Hudson will help. I noticed she bought five bags of sweets last week. Maybe she could be an old, dead bride and you could be her old, dead groom. Go for a decaying look or something," Sherlock said on the off-hand. "I could supply you with blood."

"We need fake blood, Sherlock, not real. Authenticity isn't a necessity, as long as it's close enough. And what is that about the 'old' thing? I'm only thirty-eight, thanks. A few years near you?"

"Technically, but not mentally," Sherlock reminded. "For fake blood, corn syrup with red food colouring then. It makes for an extremely believable ruse."

"Why do you know that? Create much fake blood in your downtime? Weird hobbies as a child?"

"I recreate crime scenes, you should know that by now."

"Oh, I have noticed. But you usually have, you know, _real_ body parts and things."

"Most of the time. Unlike you," Sherlock added, sifting his fingers through some of the drying out pumpkin seeds, "I believe authenticity _is_ a necessity in most cases."

"It's only Halloween, Sherlock."

"Ah! And now you're the one saying it's stupid."

"I didn't say it was stupid, I'm just saying that it's not necessary to go all out," John said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John's pumpkin equipment on the table, the careful detail he was using to carve the new pumpkin. John noticed the look. "Pumpkin carving isn't all out. It's tradition. Severed thumbs are _too_ 'all out'."

"So you say. Enjoy your Hallow's Eve, John."

"Thanks, Sherlock, but you'll be a part of it, too, in one way or another. The doorbell will be ringing all day, so you're definitely not going to escape it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before picking his way into the living room. He flopped himself onto the couch, determined to, if not to escape, disregard this holiday altogether.

Well.

Maybe he could check out a few costumes first. As a learning experience.

If dull, he would just delete it and move on. If not, he could entice the notion. Either way, no loss.

He nodded to himself, steepling his fingers in front of his nose. Now if only the screams would start. The screams of terror belonging to an unwilling victim as they were dragged down to the spiraling black abyss of death that none could escape from...

Slowly, Sherlock smiled.

* * *

**Yeah, Halloween fic when it's almost Independence Day. I'm sorry. I had the idea. I couldn't figure out how to end it, though, so I tried for a subtle spooky note. Yeah... Smile, Sherlock, it's Hallow's Eve. I like it. Haha. Hope you do, too. Your reviews are, as always, appreciated.**


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